


do what it takes to survive

by DrowningInStarlight



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Families of Choice, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Mutual Pining, Team as Family, Vignettes, working through my mynock crew emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24793009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningInStarlight/pseuds/DrowningInStarlight
Summary: What makes a family? Well, it starts like this...
Relationships: CT-1776 | Bacta/Trystan "Tryst" Valentine, Everyone & Everyone, Leenik Geelo/Trystan "Tryst" Valentine
Comments: 17
Kudos: 40





	1. do what it takes to survive

**Author's Note:**

> i finished campaign and immediately wrote this in one sitting. i have mynock emotions please send help 
> 
> title from kill all your friends by my chemical romance

Sometimes, Bacta wonders how they’ve managed to survive as long as they have. Sometimes, he wonders where it’s all going to end, when their luck will run out— will they see it coming, stand together at the end? Will it take them by surprise, a snap decision and a blaze of glory, will it pick them off one by one, who will be the last man standing— 

He always tries to shrug it off like the nightmares he no longer sleeps enough to get. But death lingers.

— 

Bacta’s world had ended the day that he’d looked into his brothers’ eyes and seen strangers looking back at him, and it’s no contest, that day, that moment, was the worst thing he’d ever seen in his life. 

Seeing Tryst get gunned down? That’s a close second. 

The job they’d taken was supposed to be simple, just a smuggling run to put some credits in their hands, and it’s probably those famous last words that doomed them. It’s been a couple of years since Bacta had met Tryst and Leenik, and by now, they’re a good team. Bacta likes them— they’re weird, both of them, weird and dangerous and infuriating and somehow, Bacta finds himself hopelessly endeared. But he hadn't realised just how much they'd become more than a casual crew until Tryst goes down, and it feels like someone's put a knife through Bacta's heart. 

They’d all taken it in stride when a rival smuggling group showed up to steal the cargo from the pick up point. Leenik slips into the shadows, approaching the leader silently with shock gloves raised, while Bacta’s on sniper duty in the catwalks around the warehouse and Tryst faces the other smugglers in the centre of the room, smooth talking the leader and keeping the group dancing the line between distracted and murderous with calculated ease and the Valentine smile. 

Leenik’s three steps away from the leader and Bacta’s ready to shoot on Tryst’s signal and normally, all of their plans feel two seconds and an awkward line away from collapse, but this time Bacta feels something approaching confidence. Maybe they’ve _finally_ got it worked out.

Of course, that’s when the leader waves his hand and the smugglers open fire on Tryst, without preamble or warning. 

Tryst doesn’t remember how they got out of that warehouse, how they got off planet. He remembers seeing the flicker in the eyes of the smugglers’ leader, how he hadn’t even had time to shout before the blaster fire started, and then it’s just— just pain, followed by darkness. Everything still hurts now, but it’s distant. There’s weight on his legs, he thinks, but it’s hard to… hard to think. 

He opens his eyes. He’s in a hospital. Probably. He doesn’t recognise the grey walls and neat rows of beds. For a moment, he’s disorientated, the instinct to run and escape fighting with whatever painkillers he’s obviously been dosed with, but then he glances down. Leenik’s sat in a chair pulled right up to the bed, slumped over asleep, head pillowed on Tryst’s thigh. One hand is resting on Tryst’s hip, the other stretched out across Tryst’s knees, Bacta’s hand around his wrist. Bacta’s on his other side, also slumped forward. As well as having one hand around Leenik’s wrist, he also has a hand around Tryst’s wrist. It takes Tryst a moment to realise what he’s doing. 

He’s taking their pulses. 

Tryst knows that Bacta can’t be asleep, but he doesn’t seem to have realised that Tryst’s awake yet. He doesn’t think he minds. Everything still feels distant, but he’s warm and like, probably safe, considering his crewmates are asleep (give or take) beside him and… 

He’s asleep again before he’s finished the thought. 

— 

“Tamlin, meet your uncles!” Grizelle says. “Uncle Tryst…” 

“Hey Tama!” Tryst responds obligingly. 

“Uncle Leenik…” 

“Hey, kid.” 

“And Uncle Bacta!” 

“Hey, Tamlin,” Bacta says, soft, like he’s afraid of scaring the little baby before them. “Welcome aboard.” 

Tamlin giggles and throws his little fists into the air. 

— 

It’s the screaming that wakes Lyn, and it takes her a moment to gather her bearings. The scream echoes through the Mynock and there’s only one person on the ship who screams like that. She grabs for her shirt. _Tamlin._

It’s only once she’s pulled her shirt on over her head that she notices all her things are floating a few inches above the ground, everything lit with a dull, greyish light. There are small flickers of energy dancing across everything, setting her teeth on edge like static. What the hell is going on? 

She bursts out into the hallway and immediately crashes into Leenik. 

“What’s going on?” she asks. 

“I don’t know,” he says, hurrying them along. “It’s Tamlin, we need Bacta. Hey, Bacta! Bacta!” 

They arrive outside the room where Tamlin sleeps just in time to see Tryst crashing through the door, hair wild and kimono only half tied. The room is still dark apart from that eerie glow, but Lyn can see Bacta’s silhouette already kneeling by Tamlin’s bedside. 

“Tama, Tamlin, you’re okay,” Bacta’s saying, but it’s barely audible over Tamlin _screaming_ , again and again. Tryst lands on his knees beside Bacta, and goes to reach for Tamlin, before Bacta puts out an arm to stop him. 

“I—” Tryst begins but Bacta shakes his head. 

“I know, trust me, I _know,_ but he’s not awake, he’s gonna lash out—” 

“I don’t _care!_ ” 

“Well I _do_ , Valentine! We are _not_ dealing with you right now!” 

“Tryst,” Leenik says. “Bacta’s right.” 

The way Tryst looks up makes Lyn suspect he hadn’t noticed them arriving. Leenik moves over to stand behind Bacta and Tryst, both still kneeling, and puts a hand on each of their shoulders. It’s a sweet, awkward gesture, and from Tryst and Bacta’s easy acceptance Lyn assumes it’s a common one from Leenik. 

Tryst slumps, but he stops trying to take the screaming child in his arms. Tamlin’s twisted up in the blankets, face red and blotchy. His screams are starting to be interspersed with awful, heart wrenching sobs. 

Bacta rubs a hand over his face, and Lyn suddenly feels a little awkward. It’s hard, sometimes, not to put people under a microscope, examine them from the safe position of outsider. She moves to join them, sitting on the floor beside Tryst. 

“Is there anything we can do for him?” she asks. 

Bacta shakes his head grimly. “Just gotta wait it out til he wakes up.” 

The glow still fills the room, and the fabric of Tamlin’s blankets is waving gently, Tryst’s hair looking as if it was being caught by a light breeze. It’s easy, in abstract, to understand that Tamlin is force sensitive, but Lyn had never realised just what that could mean for an orphaned five year old without anyone to guide him. 

Eventually, he begins to quiet, reduced to sobbing by sheer lack of breath. They all watch as he finally opens his eyes, staring around with wide, scared eyes. Everything that had been gently hovering crashes back down to the ground and the glow snuffs out, plunging the room into complete darkness. 

“Can you hear me, little buddy?” Bacta says into the darkness, and Lyn has never heard him sound so impossibly gentle. She turns to click the lights on, and when she looks back, Tamlin is on Tryst’s lap, face pressed into his shoulder, and Bacta is stroking his back. 

Force, what would have happened to this child if these three idiots hadn’t saved him? If they didn’t continue to put the work in to protect him, to raise him? Lyn doesn’t want to imagine. She tries very hard not to. 

“I’ll make tea,” Leenik says quietly, and with his words, something of the awful spell that holds the room is broken. 

Tamlin’s breathing is still coming in little hiccups as he sits on Bacta’s lap. They’re sitting round the booth in the kitchen, except for Tryst, who still seems too agitated to sit still, and Leenik, who’s making tea. Lyn sits opposite Bacta and Tamlin, shooting them both concerned looks when they aren’t looking at her. The lights seem bright and strange, and everyone flinches when Leenik puts a cup down a little too hard on the worktop. 

By the time the tea’s done, Tamlin’s pressed his tearstained face into Bacta’s chest and fallen asleep again. Leenik sets the mismatched mugs on the table, and sits down next to Lyn. Tryst is still pacing, but he comes to sit beside Bacta and puts his feet on Leenik’s lap under the table. Leenik pushes them off easily, and passes Tryst a mug. 

“Does this happen a lot?” Lyn asks quietly, taking a sip of her tea. She isn’t normally much of a tea drinker, but Leenik always makes it exactly how she likes it. 

“Too much,” Bacta says, keeping his voice low and steady so as not to disturb the child sleeping on his chest. “I’m sorry he woke you.” 

“No, you don’t need apologise,” Lyn says. “I’m one of the crew, now, right? So I’m here to look out for Tamlin as much as the rest of you.” 

“Force knows he needs as many people watching out for him as we can get,” Tryst says. “This isn’t any kind of life for a kid.” 

“I think it’s a lot better than the kind of life he’d have without you,” Lyn says seriously. “You love him, right?” 

“Yeah,” Bacta says, followed by Tryst’s “‘Course we do,” and Leenik’s “He’s a good kid.” 

“Then it’s more than he’d get from the Empire.” 

“Love isn’t enough to raise a child on,” Bacta says. He’s right, Lyn knows he’s right.

“It’ll have to be,” Tryst says. They all know the Mynock doesn’t have anything else to offer. 

Silence settles, heavy. Bacta’s stroking Tamlin’s back as he sleeps and everyone else is still, slumped and tired. 

“What are we doing?” Tryst says eventually. 

“What do you mean?” Lyn asks. 

He waves a hand vaguely. “Just. What are we doing.” 

“I don’t know,” Bacta says. “I don’t know.” 

—

Tryst can’t sleep. That isn’t exactly unusual, after a mission— everyone crashes at first, sleeps and eats and heals, but eventually you start being able to think about normal things again, and that’s where the restlessness sets in. He stares up at the roof of his bunk, trying to keep his tossing and turning quiet enough so as not to disturb Leenik sleeping below him. He just feels… weird. And not good weird, not fun and interesting weird, just… kinda sad. Kinda lost. 

He doesn’t like it. 

Time doesn’t really have any context in hyperspace, but it’s five am when Tryst finally gives up on sleep. He slips out of his bunk, and snagging a kimono off the floor, sneaks out of the room. All the lights are set low, the gentle night time glow that everyone on the Mynock is used to. Tamlin’s scared of the dark and Bacta’s up all night anyway so complete darkness had never seemed like a practical idea in the hallways. Tryst, born and raised with the light desert nights of Tatooine, finds it oddly familiar. Comforting, in a way that things from his childhood rarely are. 

He pads into the kitchen. Bacta’s standing at the worktop, working on something under the kitchen light, but he looks up when Tryst walks in. Tryst hadn’t known what he was going to do until he saw Bacta giving him a slightly confused look, but in that instant he knows exactly what he wants. 

Bacta gives a small _“Oof,”_ of surprise when Tryst tackle hugs him, but he catches himself against the worktop, other hand wrapping around Tryst’s waist almost instinctively. For someone who was literally created to kill, Bacta’s a very, very good hugger. He’s warm and solid, giving an air of stability that Tryst’s never found anywhere else. Never _wanted_ to find anywhere else. 

Bacta’s other hand comes up to rest at the back of Tryst’s neck, fingers in his hair. “Everything okay, buddy?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Tryst mumbles into Bacta’s shoulder.

“Well, welcome to the club.” 

“You literally cannot sleep, what are you talking about?” Tryst says. 

“You know what I mean,” Bacta says, beginning to pull away a little to make talking easier, but Tryst very much does not want to be let go of. He holds tighter. Bacta gives him a strange look. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“What, can’t a guy ask for some affection from his family?” 

“You didn’t ask and it’s five in the morning,” Bacta points out, “But, but. Okay. I’ve got you.” 

They stand there for a moment, then Bacta walks Tryst backwards towards the booth, and sits them both down, an arm around Tryst’s shoulders still. 

“Thanks,” Tryst says, after a while. Bacta peers at him. 

“Now I really am worried, Trystan.” 

“No, it’s just, like… post mission crash, I guess.” 

“Oh,” Bacta says, understanding lighting up his eyes. “Oh yeah, that’s absolutely a thing. We’d always get an increase in visitors to the medbay after missions for things that were seemingly unrelated, like soldiers falling down stairs and all that, and some of the officers theorised—” 

Tryst lets the words wash over him. In an ever changing world, Bacta talking at length about procedure in clone facilities given the opportunity is something to be relied upon. A fixed point. He knows he loves him, and that should be scary, because Valentines have never been good at love. But it's okay. Right now, Tryst can believe it's all going to be okay.

— 

Leenik’s sitting on the Mynock’s ramp, reading a Nemoidian Sparks on his datapad as evening falls around him, when Tamlin emerges. He sits beside Leenik with the awkward deliberateness of a five year old and sighs deeply. 

“What’s up?” Leenik says. 

“Uncle Tryst and Uncle Bacta are arguing again,” Tamlin says with a huff.

Now Leenik thinks about it, he has been hearing distant shouting. He’s got very good at tuning it out when he isn’t in the mood to go and join in. “What about? Anything interesting?” 

“Just Uncle Tryst drinking too much again or something.” Tamlin puts his elbows on his knees and rests his chin in his hands. 

“Wonder when Bacta’ll realise he’s fighting a losing battle with that one.” 

“He wants to keep Uncle Tryst safe, because sometimes Uncle Tryst doesn’t want to keep himself safe,” Tamlin recites, with another world weary sigh. Leenik reckons Lyn taught him that one. 

Leenik puts down the datapad, resigned. “You wanna go and read the next chapter of _the Noble of Naboo?”_

“You betcha!” Tamlin says, jumping to his feet, all despondency gone in a heartbeat. “Let’s go! D’you think the senator _really_ betrayed the prince?” 

“If he did, he did it for love,” Leenik reminds him, playfully. 

They go and get changed into pyjamas before settling into Tamlin’s bed. He curls into Leenik at once, his head on Leenik’s chest, staring at the words on the datapad with rapt attention as Leenik reads them outloud. It’s only once they’ve read two chapters and Tamlin’s eyes are starting to close that he speaks again. 

“Uncle Leenik, you tricked me into going to bed again,” he says sleepily. 

“And you fell right into it,” Leenik tells him. “That’s the third time running, kid.” 

“Mm… I think that’s okay,” he says vaguely. “This is good too. Almost as good as staying up late. You’ve got pretty eyes.” 

Leenik blinks. “Thanks, kid.” 

“Mm,” Tamlin says again, and then he’s asleep. Leenik lies very, very still, and tries to ignore the countdown always running in his mind until this all falls apart and he’s alone again. 

— 

So, the mission had gone wrong. Tryst is prepared to admit that. Technically, the mission _had_ gone wrong. But as he spirals through the air in the TIE fighter they’d stolen, Leenik somewhere below the dash pulling out wires with great vigour, it certainly didn’t _feel_ like it had. 

He faints left and goes right at the very last second, turning so sharply that Leenik slips and something sparks. 

“Hey!” he says, scrambling to stop the imminent fire, but he’s almost drowned out by the rattle of blasterfire skittering off the ship. 

“I’ve got it, stop complaining,” Tryst says. Not looking away from the controls, he scrabbles for the comm. 

“Have you, though?” Leenik says, as another wire sparks. 

“Yes, of course I’ve got it— hold tight—” he wrenches the ship around another hairpin turn. Leenik grumbles under his breath. Tryst finally manages to find the comm and flips it. 

“Bacta, come in. Bacta? Lyn? Hello?” 

There’s just static. 

“They’re jamming us,” Leenik says disdainfully. He pulls a wire free, looks at it skeptically, then discards it. “Okay, ready when you are.” 

“You sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure! Why would I say it if I wasn’t sure?” 

“Hey, look, I just wanted to check!” As he’s speaking, Tryst climbs out of the pilot seat and Leenik opens the hatch, smooth as clockwork. This isn’t the first time they’ve pulled this particular trick. “Since it’s our lives on the line and all!” 

“It’s _always_ our lives on the line,” Leenik points out, poised to pull himself up out of the TIE. 

“Damn right,” Tryst says, then he reaches over and wrenches the brakes. The TIE screeches away, but Leenik and Tryst have already jumped for it. They land and roll, crashing through the undergrowth. 

They’re close enough that Tryst hears the way Leenik counts down under his breath, “Three, two, one—” 

Their TIE explodes neatly on zero, raining hot metal and fire. The other TIEs chasing them wheel overhead, and Tryst pulls Leenik down further into the undergrowth. 

For a moment, the only sound is the roar of the TIEs, and then they move off, and Tryst can hear frantic breathing, his and Leenik’s both. They stay lying low in the undergrowth, peering up at the sky, but everything remains silent, so Tryst leaps up with a whoop. 

“That’s how we _do it!”_ he shouts. “Yeah!” 

Leenik goes for a high five, and it turns into a hug, then they’re just jeering and yelling at the empty sky. 

“That was our best time _yet!”_ Leenik says, catching his breath. “The timing on that…” 

“It was perfect!” Tryst says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Oh kriff, we should probably call the Mynock now we’re not jammed.” 

Leenik grimaces. “Be my guest.” 

Tryst pulls out his comm. “Hey, Mynock? This is—” 

_“Tryst,”_ Bacta answers immediately. His voice is sharp with worry. _“Where were you?”_

“We were a little busy,” Leenik cuts in. “Hi, this is Leenik, by the way.” 

_“Hello, Leenik,”_ Bacta says, through audibly gritted teeth. _“Busy?”_

“Well,” Leenik begins, and Tryst suddenly gets a very bad feeling about this and makes a frantic cutting gesture across his throat. “We— er— what, Tryst?” 

“Don’t tell him about the explosion thing,” Tryst whispers. 

“Oh, I wasn’t going to tell him about the explosion thing—” 

_“THE WHAT THING?”_

“—oops.” 

_“I thought— we thought you were— the comms was just giving us static—"_ There’s noise in the background, voices, Lyn, Tryst guesses. Probably telling Bacta to calm down. 

_“Sit tight,”_ Lyn says, sure enough, like she’s taken Bacta’s comm off him. _“We’re coming to you.”_

“Yes, sir,” Tryst says, and Lyn sighs.

The Mynock makes a flyover with the ramp down, and Lyn gives them both a hand hauling themselves on. Once they’re safely in the brig, she gives them both a serious look. 

“We were worried,” she says. 

“Well, you didn’t need to be,” Tryst says cheerfully, heading up towards the cockpit. “We had it all under control.” 

Lyn and Leenik follow him up. Bacta’s sitting in the pilot’s chair, but he’s got autopilot on and his face in his hands. He looks up when they enter. 

“Heyyyy, Bacta,” Tryst says. “How are… you?” 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Bacta says, standing up. “Both of you! That was supposed to be a simple mission, and you had to go and kriff it up and get the goddamn Empire on our tail?” 

“Look, we didn’t exactly have any other choice,” Tryst says. 

“We could have been captured on purpose,” Leenik mumbles. “I did suggest it.” 

“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side!” 

“I am! I’m just saying...” 

“Enough,” Bacta snaps. “Shut up, both of you.” 

Tryst and Leenik exchange offended looks. 

“It’s almost like you were worried about us, or something,” Tryst says, offhandedly. 

Lyn sighs as she moves to take pilot controls. “Last thing we heard from you,” she says, “You got in that TIE. Then the comms were jammed, and then that TIE _exploded.”_

“Oh,” Leenik says. 

“Bacta, are you _crying?”_ Tryst asks. Bacta’s looking down at the ground, still tense with anger, but at Tryst’s words he looks up. The cockpit of the Mynock is small, and Tryst is standing close enough to Leenik that it’s easy for Bacta to step forward and haul them both into a hug. 

“Shut up,” Bacta repeats, muffled into Tryst’s shoulder. Leenik’s hand comes up to pat his back awkwardly. “If you two go and die on me, I’ll kriffing kill you myself.” 

“Love you too,” Tryst says, resigning himself to the hug and putting an arm around Bacta’s shoulders. They stand there, just holding tight, and for a moment everything is warm and uncomplicated. Then Bacta pulls away, and rubs at his eyes. 

“I’m still mad at you,” he says, before stomping out of the cockpit. 

“That could have gone worse,” Leenik says, once Bacta’s gone, and Tryst can’t help his hysterical laughter.

— 

Everyone’s a little weird on the Mynock. That’s a given. True, most people who find themselves on the run from the Empire are, because if you fit tidily into the Empire’s model of normal then chances are you wouldn’t be running in the first place. But to stick with the Mynock? That’s a particular brand of weird. 

They go to an ice cream parlour for Tamlin’s sixth birthday. It’s a shitty little place, right next door to the local bounty hunter cantina, and Bacta can tell there’s some spillover in clientele. The person standing behind the counter gives them a curious look, and Tamlin scrambles off to choose a booth. 

“You’re sure you want to get ice cream for your birthday, buddy?” Bacta had asked. “You can if you want, but we do get ice cream all the time, and birthdays should be special.” 

“No, I want ice cream,” Tamlin had said firmly. “But— you all have to be there. All uncles, Tony, Mr Sparks, _everyone."_

And how could they have refused their birthday boy? 

Perhaps, in a nicer establishment, the proprietor would have had something to say about Tony, but it was clear this man did not get paid enough to care. They pile into the window booth at Tamlin’s instructions. Tamlin goes in the window on one side, followed by Bacta, Lyn and Neemo. Tryst sits opposite Tamlin, Leenik sits next to him, and Tony curls up partially on the seat and partially on Leenik’s lap. And they all proceed to eat copious amounts of ice cream. 

They’re loud, and Tryst keeps stealing spoonfuls of other people’s, and Tony falls asleep and starts snoring midway through. Logically, Bacta knows they’re weird, and that people are looking at them, making judgements based on the weirdness they see. But it’s increasingly difficult to care. Normal is the Empire’s thing. Bacta wants to aim for happiness. Happiness, for all of them, for as long as they can have it. 

It’s hard to ignore the shadow of death over everything they do. But Tryst puts an arm around Leenik’s shoulders and Leenik flushes yellow and drops his spoon in his ice cream which splashes over Neemo, making him jump and elbow Lyn’s bowl which spills over Bacta and then Tamlin shrieks with excitement and tips his own over on purpose, and suddenly everyone is covered in ice cream but Bacta finds he can’t stop laughing.


	2. these words are futile devices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of kisses, tattoos, siblings and film nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i really thought i'd worked out all my mynock crew emotions but apparently not, here's another 3k of found family chaos.
> 
> chapter title is from futile devices by sufjan stevens. 
> 
> this fic now comes with a [pinterest board!](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/amethystdragon9/fic-do-what-it-takes-to-survive/)

The kitchen of the Mynock is quiet. Quiet is unusual on the Mynock, and it had been even before it became too full to comfortably house them all. There’s always people talking, or music playing, or the crashes and occasional swear words of Leenik cooking something new. Tryst likes it that way. He was always around noise and bustle and people growing up, and back home the only reason everyone would be quiet was the simmering resentment of an argument. 

When the Mynock is quiet, however, it’s for reasons other than anger. They’re quiet when Tamlin’s going to bed, sometimes— although not all the time, and the kid never seems bothered by hearing people around him. First thing in the morning, when Bacta’s still making breakfast and passing out caf. Now, in the heavy moments before a mission. 

Tryst’s sitting on the piano stool, and Leenik’s doing his makeup for him. Everyone else is out shopping, but Tryst couldn’t afford to risk blowing his cover, and Leenik obviously needed to be with Tryst to help him with his disguise, so they’d stayed behind. In a few hours, Tryst’s going to be infiltrating an enemy meeting and then eventually faking his own death, and he’s ready— excited, even— to slip into character and play his part: loud and beautiful and distracting. Right now, though, everything is still, and it’s… nice. Steadying, like Leenik’s gentle fingers on his face. 

“Your fingers are cold,” he says, more out of habit than genuine complaint. 

Leenik pokes him in the cheek with a metal finger, then peers at him in concern that he’s smudged the makeup he’s been applying so diligently. He smooths his fingertips over Tryst’s cheekbone and says “You’ve messed it up.” 

Tryst snorts. “You’re the one who poked me.” 

Leenik sniffs dismissively and searches around for his eyeliner. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, and Tryst does so. He puts a hand on Tryst’s chin and holds it there, and Tryst breathes out slowly. 

“You’re better at this than I am.” 

“Yeah,” Leenik says. “Stay still.” 

“You’re supposed to tell me that I just don’t have as much practice or something,” Tryst says, keeping his eyes closed as Leenik carefully does his eyeliner. 

“Well, I’m not gonna. You are better than Lyn and Bacta, though.” 

“But, Bacta’s got steady hands going for him,” Tryst points out. “You reckon makeup was a thing in the clone facility?” 

“If it was, I don’t think Bacta was using it,” Leenik says. After a moment, he drops his hands from Tryst’s face. “There. You’re done.” 

Tryst opens his eyes. He accepts the mirror that Leenik passes him and peers at himself. His reflection blinks back at him, all pinks and golds, warm and delicate as a Tatooine sunset. Leenik doesn’t wear those colours, so Tryst knows that he must have got them specifically to use on him. It makes his heart feel warm and oh _boy_ that’s a danger sign, alright. 

He looks up at Leenik, who’s watching for his reaction. He isn’t touching Tryst’s face anymore but he’s still so close, and it’s some mixture of the frenetic anxiety of being on the cusp of a new mission and the warm feeling lingering in his chest that makes Tryst sway forwards instinctively. 

Leenik catches his face with his hand again. “Don’t,” he says, into the space between them. “You’ll mess up your lipstick.” 

“I can’t believe that you’d give me lipstick that smudged that easily,” Tryst says. “You know me too well for that.” 

“You told me last time that the smudging was half the appeal,” Leenik says.

“That does sound like something I’d say,” he agrees. 

“It’s not worth it,” Leenik says, dropping his hand from Tryst’s face. Tryst doesn’t move. He knows Leenik isn’t talking about the lipstick anymore. They’ve always been on the same wavelength, Tryst and Leenik. A stupid and dangerous wavelength that’s going to get them both killed, for sure. But the same one. 

“Since when have I cared about that,” Tryst replies. Leenik’s eyes are full of distant galaxies. They’re _so close,_ but Tryst is still surprised when Leenik leans forward suddenly and kisses him on the cheek.

They’ve kissed before, like, properly kissed, but somehow this is the one that makes Tryst feel a little breathless.

He’s about to say something, he doesn’t even know what, something between _kiss me again_ and _thanks for doing my makeup_ and _I didn’t think I did love but now I’ve gone and fallen in love twice because I’ve never been able to do things by halves,_ when there’s noises from the entrance of the ship. They both jump. 

Bacta’s voice echoes from the brig as he yells “Boys! We’re back!” 

Tryst hesitates, but Leenik’s already looked away. 

— 

Lyn isn’t really surprised that it’s Tryst who brings up dying, this time. 

It comes up fairly often in post mission debriefs, near death experiences being listed in failures, fewer near death experiences listed in desires. Leenik and Tryst laughing it off, Bacta being concerned at their careless attitude— Lyn doesn’t think that they realise how much Bacta worries about them. She knows he feels like he failed his unit back in Order 66, and she knows that he’s so desperately, desperately afraid that he’s going to fail the Mynock crew now. She’s quite familiar with that particular brand of survivor’s guilt herself, and they’ve talked about it before, quietly, in the mornings when no one else is awake and they’re drinking caf from chipped mugs over the diner table.

Bacta’s a good person. She’s glad that she met him. She’s glad she met the whole Mynock crew, they’re… the only word she can find is sweet. Messy and clumsy and aggravating and _sweet._

The thing that she can’t stop thinking about is the way that when Bacta had called the post mission debrief clipboard meeting, he’d called it a family meeting. “Guys,” he’d said over the shipwide comms. “Family meeting in the kitchen.” 

Not that many years ago, he would have been barking orders to his subordinates. Not that many years ago, Lyn would have been ducking out of her own orders wherever she could, laughing with the professors and documenting the wonders of the world around her. 

Now, it’s a _family meeting._ In the kitchen, where everything is rooster themed and there’s a sign that says _what’s mynock is yournock_ and Leenik’s apron hangs over the cupboard door. 

Lyn doesn’t know what world she’s wandered into, but she thinks she likes it. 

Tryst doesn’t seem to think anything of the remark he makes once general muckery is over and done with. “Almost a pity I wasn’t _really_ dead,” he says. “All your oaths of vengeance were very good. Poetic.” 

Neemo nods in acknowledgement. “You’d be amazed at how often post-death speeches come up in my books,” he says. 

“I haven’t even read them,” Tryst says, “And I’m not surprised. Like, not even a little bit.” 

Neemo rolls his eyes. “What I’m saying is, I’m very practiced in that specific area.” 

“Don’t die, Uncle Tryst!” Tamlin says, undistracted from the original point. 

“Well, obviously I wouldn’t be _planning_ on it,” Tryst says. 

Bacta’s picking up the mess from the ritual pillow fight that had been invoked somewhere around promises. He pulls a face as he scoops up a rogue lizard from under a chair. “You can’t actually die while I’m still wanted,” he says. “It’d make finding a tattooist who wouldn’t recognise me so much more work.” 

“Are you implying the first thing you’d do if I died would be to get a tattoo?” Tryst demands. 

“Well, yeah, eventually,” Bacta says, like it’s nothing. He taps his bicep, covered in neat rows of black ink names. “That’s like, my whole deal.” 

“You’d… add Tryst’s name to the list of your unit?” Lyn asks slowly. 

“Yeah?” Bacta says, nonplussed. “I’d do it for any of you. That’s what it’s for.” 

This crew. This _crew._ It’s moments like this that Lyn is reminded that actually, she has a lot more experience being part of crews than any of the others do, and it’s because of that she can really appreciate the way people aren’t just colleagues, working towards a mutual goal for as long as that goal remains mutual. They’re a family. 

Somehow, she’s stumbled into a family. 

“Oh, Bacta,” she says softly. 

“What?” he says, looking almost defensive, still clutching the lizard. 

“Nothing, it’s just… that’s just a really lovely thing to say.” 

“Well, I hope none of you are planning on dying any time soon,” he says, his voice breaking a little on the last word. He coughs to clear his throat. “But. Yeah. That’s what I would do. If you did.” 

“I think the most important question here is clearly _where_ would you get my name,” Tryst says, to break the tension and because Bacta still looks a little like he’s going to cry. “Because really, your arm is such a missed opportunity—” 

_“Trystan Valentine, by the force—”_

— 

Rendezvous screeches to a halt on her speeder bike in front of the Mynock and sighs deeply. 

There hadn’t been names on the bounty she’d been chasing, but she probably should have guessed it was her brother and his crew. They’ve clearly had the ship done up since she’d last seen it, but it’s still pretty distinctive— to her eyes, anyway, well trained at picking up details and distinguishing traits. 

All this way for fucking nothing. 

She stomps up to the hatch and bangs on it with her fist. “Trystan! Open up!” 

There’s a shout from inside, a kid’s voice. “Who’s there?” 

That’s right, Trystan’s got a kid now. Out of all of her siblings, she still can’t believe that it was _Tryst_ who settled down first. Perhaps, by any other standards, living with a crew of semi-rebels and raising a kid that definitely isn’t your own wouldn’t be settling down, but for a Valentine? That’s basically marrying a nice guy from your hometown. 

She bangs on the ship again. “TRYSTAN!” 

There’s a shout of “RINGIST GOD, _COMING!”_ then angry footsteps and the hatch of the new Mynock is thrown open. Tryst’s standing with his arms crossed, blaster in his hand. Despite this, he’s barefoot— wearing nothing, in fact, apart from a floral kimono. He’s growing his hair out, she notices, and it’s held back with a variety of sparkly hair clips that just scream “chosen by a five year old.” 

Tryst Valentine, settling down. Never thought she’d see that day. 

“Hey,” she says, lifting her own blaster and exaggeratedly putting it back in her holster to signal that she isn’t going to shoot him. Not right now, at least. He doesn’t move, which means someone’s common sense must finally be rubbing off on him. 

“Vous Vous,” he says, incredulously. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“You’ve got an anonymous bounty on your heads from the local crime lord,” she says. “You dipshit. I was working, until I saw this ship. Got it upgraded?” 

“Yeah,” Tryst says coolly. “We did. You still planning on working?” 

Before she can reply, there’s a patter of footsteps and the kid races out and hugs onto Tryst’s leg. He’s wearing a pink tutu, and he peers out at her curiously. Tryst doesn’t blink. “Tamlin, go inside.” 

“I heard yelling,” Tamlin says in a whisper. 

“And you came outside because of it? No! You should go _away_ from the yelling,” Trystan tells him sternly. Tamlin’s lip starts to look wobbly, and Tryst sighs. “Don’t cry, kid, it’s just your aunty Vous Vous.” 

“She’s interrupting ballet,” is what Rendezvous thinks the kid says next, but her attention is distracted by the arrival of the rest of the crew behind Tryst. They all look sweaty and out of breath, like they’ve been exercising. The aforementioned ballet, she presumes. 

“Tamlin, come here,” Lyntel says, and scoops up the child, putting him up on her shoulder. Clearly, Rendezvous has disturbed the crew before they’ve got out of pyjamas, because Lyn is just wearing a loose shirt and shorts that look like they belong to Trystan. Leenik Geelo comes up to Tryst’s other side, looking out at her suspiciously. His wariness is somewhat undercut by the oversized, fuzzy pyjamas he’s wearing. They’re patterned with little cartoon ewoks. 

Bacta shoulders his way through the assembled group. He’s shirtless, just in pyjama bottoms that look like they came out of a matching set with Leenik’s, the colour scheme alternated. When he sees her, his face lights up— the only person who looks genuinely pleased to see her. It’s hard _not_ to like Bacta. 

“Ren!” he says. “How’re you doing?” 

“Don’t _be nice_ to her,” Tryst says, elbowing him. 

“She’s my friend!” Bacta protests. 

“Hey, Bacta,” she says, because he’s right, they _are_ friends, no matter what Trystan says. “I’m good, thank you.” 

“Yeah, because you’re gonna turn us in,” Tryst spits. 

“I’m not going to turn you in,” Rendezvous tells him, making it sound like an insult. “Because Fling would kill me if she found out, and you know she’d find out.” 

“Oh, not because I’m your brother and you love me, then?” 

“Guys,” Lyntel says, seeming wary to interrupt. “We should leave, right now, if our location has been compromised.” 

Rendezvous and Trystan glare at each other. Next to Tryst, Leenik Geelo turns and calls back into the ship, “Tony! Come here, please!” 

A vornskr bounces down the walkway, into Leenik’s arms. “Good boy,” he says, crouching to pet the creature. She hadn’t been planning on turning in the Mynock just to piss off Trystan, but if she had, she might be reconsidering a little. 

“Come in,” Bacta says, elbowing Tryst back pointedly and shooting a look in Leenik and Tony’s direction. “You want a ride anywhere?” 

Tamlin pouts. “But what about ballet?” 

“We’ll carry on tomorrow,” Lyn reassures him. She looks wryly in Rendezvous’s direction. “We’re all learning ballet at the moment.” 

“Yeah, family project,” Trystan grumbles, moving back up the ramp. “Come in, I guess. You want that ride?” 

“Yeah, back to my ship would be great,” she says. “Since I wasted a trip out here.” 

“No problem,” Bacta says. 

She waits for Leenik to lead the vornskr inside before she follows the crew. 

_Goddamn siblings._

— 

When the Verpine had referred to the crew as a hive, something in Bacta’s heart had twisted. _Yes,_ he’d wanted to say, _this is my hive._ In the echoes, he could hear himself saying _this is my family,_ and under that, somewhere painful and hidden, _this is my unit._ He’d kept his mouth closed firmly. They don’t have time for echoes. 

It’s euphoric, in some ways, to be recognised as the family they’re trying so desperately to be. It’s terrifying, in others. Bacta’s lost families before. They all have, in one way or another— and that was before they were on the Empire’s most wanted list. It’s desperately, achingly obvious that this isn’t going to last forever. 

That isn’t okay. The fact that Bacta can’t imagine a future that isn’t bloody, that the possibility of a life together has been stolen from them by the Empire just because of _who they are…_ That will never be okay. It makes him breathless with rage, the kind of rage he only feels when he thinks about what’s been lost. What’s been _taken._

But there’s a place for rage, and this isn’t it. Tonight, it’s film night. 

Tamlin and Leenik are sat on the floor, sorting through holodiscs, and arguing. Tony flops around next to them, chasing the tiny rainbows reflecting off the walls from the discs. They’re watching Space Ghibli, because as one of her emotional secrets during a clipboard meeting, Lyn had confessed that she used to watch them with her brother and kind of misses them. 

“D’you think Tamlin would like them?” Bacta had asked thoughtfully. 

“Probably,” Lyn had said. “Bacta, are you thinking the same thing that I am right now?” 

“On three,” Bacta had said. “One, two, three—” 

_“Film night.”_

Tryst was already on the couch, eating the popcorn he’d promised everyone that he’d only make, and not touch until everyone else was ready. Bacta kept glaring at him every time he came into the room to put down people’s drinks, and Tryst kept throwing pieces at him, much to Tony’s excitement. 

“Hutt’s Moving Palace,” Tamlin says, from the floor. “And that’s my final offer.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, kid.” Leenik gives him a calculating look. “Buuut…Done.” 

Neemo hurries into the room and drops to the floor with Tamlin and Leenik. Leenik shuffles over obligingly to make space for him. “Oh no, did I miss the choosing?” 

“You did,” Tamlin says in satisfaction. “We’re watching—” 

“Oh, that’s my favourite!” 

Bacta moves Tryst’s drink over pointedly so it’s less likely to be knocked over, and says “If you’ve chosen—” 

“We have!” 

“—then it’s time for—” 

“Couch cuddles!” Tamlin yells gleefully, and launches himself into Tryst’s lap. The couch in question is not really big enough for six, so everyone is practically in someone else’s lap anyway. Bacta knows that by the time half an hour has passed, some people will have moved to sit on the floor between people’s legs, and Leenik will probably have climbed up on the back. But it’s the thought that counts. It’s good enough for Tamlin, and that’s what matters.

“Lyn!” Bacta calls. “You ready?” 

“Coming!” she responds, a little muffled, as she comes into the room with a stack of blankets. She drops them on Tryst and Tamlin, and, laughing at their spluttering, sits next to Bacta and tucks her feet in. 

“Everyone ready?” Tryst asks, once he’s pushed the blankets off and people have grabbed them from him and tucked themselves in. “Sweet, then I’ll—” 

“Do you know which button is it,” Lyn asks, in a flat tone which implies she knows exactly what the answer is. 

“You know that I don’t!” Tryst says, and passes her the remote with a cheery wink. 

“Okay,” Lyn says, with a deep breath. “Here we go.” 

Bacta puts one arm around her, his other around Leenik on his other side, and settles in for family film night. There isn’t anything in the world that can take _this._

(Not even the Empire can stop them from loving each other.)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr as [drowninginstarlights!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drowninginstarlights)


End file.
